


Someday Comes Back

by romanticalgirl



Series: behind the song [12]
Category: Atlantic City (Song)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 12:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They blew up the Chicken Man last night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someday Comes Back

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 1-2-09

It’s all flashing lights and noise and it smells like fried foods and sin. She’s dressed to the nines with stockings and heels that catch between the boardwalk slats when she’s too busy looking at the sights to watch where she’s walking. He’s holding her arm tight though, keeping her steady as he goes on and on about what’s going to happen next, what’s going to happen now, how it’s all going to change. She can feel the excitement thrumming in the air, and she knows that he’s right. After tonight, nothing’s going to be the same.

The bus ride had been full of questions he couldn’t answer, too many words that he couldn’t say out loud with the woman and her two kids behind them and the guy in the seersucker suit just in front. The bus driver grumbled low and under his breath, not loud enough to upset anyone, but from the rough jolt and jumble it was clear he wasn’t a happy man. 

“It’s just ‘cause he knows we’re going to Atlantic City, honey, and he’s going to have to turn around and drive on home.” 

She smiled and nodded, agreeing with him, even though she knew they’d have to go home eventually too, but here and now she thinks maybe she could do this forever. Neon sparkles like stars strung out on drugs that the boys push on the street corners, trying to sell her paradise for a paycheck, even though she knows it’s nothing that lasts. This is just as elusive and just as much an illusion, but she can see this one, touch it, feel it in the air, in the music, in her blood. 

The sounds of money ring out, slots cashing coins into their trays and dealers and barkers looking for the next one to lay their money down. He’s tense beside her, his muscles coiled tight in the arm she’s holding on to, and she knows he’s looking for something, someone. She wants to ask, but she doesn’t want to know. Knowing means knowing that he’s in something he’s not supposed to be, in too deep to get out. He keeps murmuring names she can’t quite hear, like he’s trying to make sure he remembers what he’s been told. A suit comes out of one of the buildings and she can feel him growing tenser, but the suits let them pass by with nothing more than a nod.

They stop finally toward the end of the boardwalk where half the buildings aren’t lit and a few don’t have doors or windows really, just boards. She can almost feel the little bit of money she’s got in her purse straining toward the casino, and she waits for him to nod and lead her across the broken asphalt of the street to a door that’s lit by nothing more than a red light. This isn’t what she expected, but there are men in suits and women dressed like hookers and booze flowing like it’s New Year’s Eve, so she doesn’t complain, just presses tighter to him as he moves to the tables.

He pulls a bundle of bills from his pocket, and she doesn’t look too hard. She knows he doesn’t have that kind of money, which means it’s someone else’s, which means it’s either stolen or this trip isn’t about them so much as someone else. A shiver runs up her spine, and for the first time since she climbed on the bus with him that morning, she’s wishing she were back home, safe and secure and coming home from her shift at the beauty parlor and gearing up for another night of passing out drinks to the burned out factory workers that come in looking grayer than the fading dusk outside. 

“It’s okay, honey,” he tells her quietly, watching the men around the table. They take his money and give him chips so he’s got multicolored towers in front of him. It’s more money than she’s ever seen, and she knows why they call it cold hard cash, because it makes her blood turn to ice, not moving as the dealer opens a deck and fans the cards out, flipping them over like a magician, telling them all to place their bets.

She bet on him a long time ago, believed him when he told her there were better days ahead. He’s been wrong so far, but she still has faith. She stands just behind him when he glances down, surveying the table like he can see through the cards to know what he’s up against. Better days haven’t come, but their luck has to turn around at some point, and she doesn’t want to miss it when it does. She can feel it – something like hope and excitement – when the dealer busts with a flip of his card and the chips start heading their way. It happens again and again and she’s starting to smile when a hand closes over her shoulder and one closes over his and, whatever their game was, it ends.

The man in the suit from down the street leads them off to a dark corner. The chips shine in the bright spotlight over the table, a few of the towers leaning precariously as they sit at a table lit by nothing but a candle with aspirations to a flame. She can feel his hand close around hers, squeezing it tight, and she knows he means to tell her that they’re going to be okay, but the man looks like he knows more about dying than living, and she doesn’t know what any of this means, but she knows it can’t be good.

“You brought me what I want.” The suit nods and cracks a smile that’s scarier than the blank look he’d worn before. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“This is for you.” He pushes an envelope across the table and it gets pocketed before she can even see what it might be. It’s brown and thick, bulging too much to close right, but it slides into the inside pocket of his hand-me-down suit and she can’t even be sure it’s there. “And this is for you.”

Another envelope, this one brown but smaller, and she can almost smell the crispness of the bills as he looks inside, fanning them apart enough to see that it’s enough to pay whatever debt it is that got them here in the first place. “Thank you.”

“You should be going now.” The man in the suit makes it sound like a suggestion, but she knows it’s nothing but an order, a demand. They stand up in unison, and she can’t wait to be on the other side of the door, the other side of the boardwalk, the other side of town. “Get out. Have fun. See the sights. Enjoy. There’s no place in the world like Atlantic City.”

**

They walk on the road, not wanting the unevenness of the boardwalk to slow their progress. She feels like the devil’s on their heels, and she clings tighter to him as they work their way back to the light. His muscles are still coiled tight, not loosening until there’s plenty of distance between them and the joint they left back in the dark. Her feet hurt from the pace, but she’s doesn’t mind when they get back to the neon and sparkle and he leads her into a bustling casino with beautiful girls and cigarette smoke and crystal clear glasses of gin.

They burn through some of the money, getting higher and higher before crashing down, building it back up on roulette and blackjack, spilling coins into the slots and drinking free liquor until she can’t feel anything but the stupid smile on her face. He pulls her away from the table, her purse empty but the green felt in front of her full, and they cash in and cash out, weaving their way up the street to their hotel. There are hundreds of people still milling around, and she can hear the sound of the waves and the roar of the crowds as he guides her back to their hotel. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s theirs for the night until the morning sun and reality wake them.

He locks the door behind them and smiles at her as she spills onto the bed, her dress splashing out around her. He takes the money and a gun she didn’t know he had and hides them in one of the drawers, under his second best shirt and tomorrow’s underwear. She watches him, not sure why she’s smiling except that her blood’s warm with booze and winning, and he’s looking at her with those eyes that make her feel like she’s more beautiful that everything else in the world he’d rather have.

“Honey,” he whispers and sheds his jacket, letting it fall to the floor as he walks toward the bed. Her hair has fallen down, tumbling around her shoulders free of the pins and spray she’d used on it. “My beautiful girl.”

She can’t help but smile, a bit awed by the reverence in his voice. He kneels at her feet and slides his hands from her ankles to her knees, rubbing his palms over the sheer nylon of her stockings. She feels like the money in the drawer, in her purse – too rich, too much, more than they deserve. The feeling doesn’t change when he nuzzles the inside of her thigh or when he pushes her down onto the bed, guiding her stockings off as his mouth seeks out the heat between her legs, letting her bend her knees over his shoulders to hold him tight against her as she arches off the bed. It doesn’t change when he undresses her or when he slides inside her, making her promises she knows he can’t keep.

In the morning, he’s standing by the window and watching the parking lot through the blinds. There’s fear in his eyes and danger in the air and she tugs the sheet closer around her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I made a deal with a man.” He lets the blinds fall and closes the curtains, looking at her in the shadowed half-light. “Did a job. Got paid.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We catch a bus back to Philly. You go on home, and I’ll be there tonight.” He goes over to the drawer and pulls out his clothes, staring down at what’s inside the drawer for a long time. “We’ll pack up some things, then I think maybe we’ll move out this way. Philly’s not the place for us anymore. I just think we’ll be better off here.”

“What happened? I thought you liked it in Philly?”

“It’s dangerous.” He shrugs and turns away from her. “Someone died at home last night.”

She brings her legs up to her chest and shivers. “Are you gonna die?”

“Nah.” He tugs on his underwear and then pulls on his shirt, digging through the clothes on the floor for his slacks. “Not after this.” He smiles at her and she believes him again, like she always does. Like she always will. “This is our ticket.” He pulls on his jacket again, tucking the money and the gun out of sight. “Atlantic City’s changing, honey. And our luck’s changin’ right along with it.”


End file.
